Warehouse 13: (O1) What an artifact wants
by A Rhea King
Summary: Emory had a quiet, recluse life until the day Pete Lattimer accidentally hits him in the face with a door. Since then, he keeps getting teleported to the moment artifacts are being retrieved. But when Artie realizes who Emory became after that fateful day, the course of Warehouse 13 may change... (OC alert!)
1. Chapter 1

"What an Artifact Wants"  
By A. Rhea King

_Chapter 1_

**Rainforest of the Amazonas**  
**Belize**

Doctor Ernesto Garbutt hated the rainforest. In his mind, if it all went away, he would not care (he was a dentist, not a scientist – and the impact that thought would have was lost on him). But the thugs had robbed his office and home of everything he had. All he had left were his tools and a couple bottles of nitrous oxide, and that was hardly enough to continue practicing. So here he was, in the middle of the damned rainforest, hoping for a miracle.

His guides had stopped being polite two days ago when they had told him they were entering forbidden territory, where things happened that no Godly man could explain or survive, and he yelled that he didn't care where they were, they were moving on. Ernesto didn't care, he only cared about his livelihood and his wife and children in the United States who depended on his income to keep them there.

The lead man hacked away at the growth blocking their way. He cut away at a huge leafed plant, froze and then screamed. The group of four stopped, staring. Ahead of them twelve men blocked their way. They wore Maya ceremonial clothes and were painted as if they were headed into a a war raid. They all had a machete hanging on one hip or the other, but they also carried ceremonial spears.

A man at the front spoke but Ernesto could only understand one or two words from the Maya language. One of the guides understood and jumped into the conversation. He made several motions to Ernesto, likely throwing him under the bus for their trespassing. The native man held up his hand and the talking stopped. He made a single nod, pointed at Ernesto and motioned him forward.

Ernesto's feet didn't want to move. One of the guides gave him a solid shove toward the man. Ernesto shuffled to the front. The man spoke again and the guide translated it into Spanish.

"He asked if you are the doctor who fixes teeth."

Ernesto nodded. "Si."

The man spoke again. The guide looked between the two and Ernesto couldn't tell if he was afraid or surprised.

"What?" Ernesto said.

"He said he knows where the gold is and he will take us there. We can have all we can carry, but only on one condition that you must carry out. If you fail, he can find us and kill all of us, not just you."

"What condition?" Ernesto asked.

The guide asked.

The man reached into a pouch hanging around his neck and pulled out a gold bracelet. The air around them hummed and had they noticed, the sounds of the rainforest animals stopped. It was tarnished, dented, and had several deep scratches on across it. It was not the prettiest piece Ernesto had ever seen. He suddenly noticed the silence.

One by one a bird began to sing and the song was exactly the same as the humming he heard. He looked overhead, feeling anxious suddenly. He looked at the man and back down at the bracelet.

"What is this? What does he want me to do with it?"

The guide asked and the man answered.

"He said a man will come to you before the next harvest and he will need you to fix his tooth. You will use the gold from this bracelet on him and no one else. Once he has left, you are to melt the rest down and scatter the pieces in the ocean. It must never be found whole again."

"Who is this man? How will I know him?"

The guide asked and the man answered. The guide stared at him until Ernesto smacked his arm. The guide turned his wide-eyes to Ernesto.

"He said the artifact will tell you when he has come. It will be the first and last time you will ever hear it speak. This is what the artifact wants and to disobey it will destroy you. He says you are to wear the bracelet until the day comes."

The man held the bracelet out with both hands, waiting for Ernesto's wrist. He looked at everyone around him, at the bracelet, as his wrist, several times as he decided what to do. But then he thought of his children and wife and he lifted his right arm. The man put the bracelet on. Electricity jolted through Ernesto's body and his heart skipped several beats. He fell to the ground, clutching his chest, and passed out. The guides started to back away as the man spoke. The one guide stopped.

"He said if we run, we die," the guide told the others. "It is now our job to wait for this man to wake, get our gold, and make sure nothing happens to him until this bracelet has told him the right man has come to him."

"We have to guard him now?" one of the men asked.

The translator watched the tribesmen head into the jungle. "Yes. It is what the artifact wants."

The group followed them in silence…

**Hotel Residencia La Mariposa**  
**Tulum, Mexico**

Pete trotted down the stairs of the hotel, finding Myka waiting in the lobby for him. He stopped behind her, leaning over her shoulder. She didn't even act surprised and continued reading the file Artie had shoved at them twelve hours ago.

"You're late," she told him

"Late night."

"Was she pretty?"

"Yes. Very much so."

"Good. Can we go find this artifact now?" Myka asked.

"Yeah. Okay."

She closed the file and headed for the front door of the hotel. Pete spotted a candy dish and made a dash for it before following her. He hit the door at the same time a man outside was reaching for it. The door flew open and smacked the man in the face, knocking him down on the sidewalk.

"Oh!" Pete hurried out and grabbed for the man's arm. "Oh man! I am so sorry. I didn't see you. I am so sorry."

The man got to his hands and knees and then held the side of his head with one hand.

"I am so sorry, man. I didn't see you."

"You thed that alwedy," the man told the ground.

"Let me help you up and inside. I am really, really sorry."

The man let Pete help him up and inside to a chair. Pete waited until he was sitting to step back. He grimaced, seeing a bruise darkening along the side of the man's face.

"Man, I… Can I get you anything? An icepack or something?"

"No. I…" The man sighed, sinking back in the chair. The moment of silence gave Pete a chance to really look at the guy. He was well tanned and bald, but there was some dark hair starting to show. He was clean shaven, but like his head, there was some fuzz starting to show. He wasn't a muscular man, but when he flexed his arms he was well toned. His face could be called charming, but plain. In fact, there wasn't anything really extraordinary about the man Pete had tried to knock out.

"I fink I bwoke a toof," the man quietly said.

"Ah no. No."

Myka came back in and gave him her 'hurry up' look.

"Look, I'm here in the hotel. Room 412. Go get a dentist to look at that tooth and send me the bill. I'll get you the money. I'm good for it, okay?"

The man nodded, quietly telling him. "Thanks."

"I know I said it already, but I am really, really sorry. I wish I'd seen you before I threw that door open."

"Maybe exif a wittle sower nex' 'ime?"

Pete smiled. "Good idea. Oh. Pete Lattimer."

The man shook the hand he offered. "Emory Garett."

Pete turned and hurried after Myka. They got in their rental and he drove them away.

"What happened back there?"

"Oh, I pushed the door hard and hit that guy in the face. He thinks he has a broken tooth."

"What a great way to start a vacation."

"How do you know he's on vacation?"

"Dressed like he was? Who'd dress like that for business?"

Pete wobbled his head. "Okay, so where are we going first to look for this artifacty?"

"A priest reported seeing it a few weeks ago. We'll start there."

"Point the way, pseudo-GPS lady."

Myka laughed.

**CostaDental**  
**Mexico**

The side of Emory's face was swollen and purple, and he was very self-conscious of it as he walked into the dentist office. The office was small, but it was the closest one he found to Tulum. A large woman sat at the front desk.

"Hola," she said.

"Oh thit. I don't speaf Spanif," Emory said.

"Don't speak very good English, either," she told him.

He sighed. "I fink I bwoke a toof."

"Yeah? That hurts. Have a seat and I'll see if he can see you today."

Emory did as he was told. He watched her haul herself out of the chair and head toward the back of the building.

#

Focused on the patient's chart he was updating, Ernesto didn't notice the bracelet begin to glow. Not until it became brighter than the lamp on the edge of his desk. He looked down at it, watching the glowing get brighter. It did that every so often, so he looked away. Suddenly a jolt of electricity raced down his arm, making him drop the pen. And then a second and third.

His office door opened and he dropped his wrist under his desk. His receptionist stuck her head in.

"Do you have time to fix a broken tooth?"

"Yes."

She stared at him. "Let me ask that again. Do you have time to—"

"It's a man, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Get him prepped for a cap."

She stared at him a moment, and then shut the door. He lifted his wrist as the bracelet shocked him again.

"Alright. I hear you. He's here now stop shocking me."

He felt stupid talking to the bracelet, but the glowing lowered and the shocking became a tingling sensation. So it was time, before the next harvest – he would finally be free of this burden which had made him wealthy and a slave.

#

Pete and Myka pulled up to the dentist office as a nurse with a man came out to a cab. Pete got out, recognizing them.

"Emory?" he called.

Emory stopped, staring at him. He looked drugged.

"Are you okay?" Pete asked.

"Toof owf an' caffed if."

Pete smiled. "He took the tooth out and capped it?"

Emory offered a lazy smile.

"Let me pay for the cab, okay?"

"Than' 'oo."

Pete reached through the passenger window and handed the driver some money. "Get him back to the hotel safe, okay?"

The driver nodded. He stood up and helped the nurse get Emory into the backseat of the cab. He slowly slid over in the seat and fell asleep. Pete was torn between artifact hunting and helping this man he hurt – but his job took priority. He stepped back with the nurse and Myka, watching the driver pull away.

"Poor guy. I feel bad for him. And he's taking it all so calm. How does someone get that calm, do you think? Drugs? LSD?" Pete turned to Myka.

She had already struck up a conversation in Spanish. She showed a picture of the bracelet to her and the nurse nodded, pointing inside.

"She says the doctor wears this bracelet."

The two headed inside, passing the receptionist.

"He's not back there," the receptionist said without looking up from her magazine.

They walked back to her. "Where is he?" Pete asked.

"Lunch. He finished his surgery and said he was going home for lunch."

"When will he be back?"

"I dunno. Two hours probably. He usually takes a siesta after lunch. Then again, we have no one this afternoon, so maybe not until tomorrow."

"We need to see Doctor Garbutt right now," Pete told her.

"You can make an appointment for tomorrow morning."

"We need his address."

"You do?" she asked sarcastically.

"Please."

"You know what I need? A new car. Get me one and I've got an address. Otherwise, come back tomorrow. With an appointment."

Pete and Myka exchanged looks. They could feel this artifact slipping away faster than they could chase it. It had been a feeling both had as soon as they'd been sent on this goose hunt…

**Hotel Residencia La Mariposa**  
**Tulum, Mexico**

Emory stumbled out of the cab and into the hotel. He felt on fire and freezing at the same time – and was fairly certain this wasn't the way getting a gold cap put on was supposed to feel. He staggered past the front desk and down the hall to his room. He had to fumble with the key until it finally slid in and he was able to stagger inside. Emory climbed onto his bed and curled into a fetal position. He closed his eyes and things went from strange to weird.

Like scenes from movies, he saw flashes of objects in so many situations he couldn't keep track of them all. Some were horrific, some were fantastical. There were people he recognized from history books and the news. He saw historical events he'd only heard about, but many played out much differently than the books told about them.

He heard whispering voices, as if the entire world's population had come into his room and surrounded him. They told stories of bygone days, of times long forgotten or recently passed. But the pain prevented him from being able to focus on the whispering. Extreme hot and cold coursed through his body, making him groan.

Short jolts of electricity jarred through his bones and muscles, leaving him breathless each time. He writhed as pain slowly intensified, creeping up until he was unconscious. His body relaxed and his jaw slid open. The new golden cap Doctor Garbutt had implanted in Emory's mouth pulsed with a soft light to the beat of his heart.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

**Warehouse 13**  
**South Dakota**

"How did you lose it?" Artie tersely demanded from Pete and Myka. "You have been chasing this man for a month; how did you lose it?"

Claudia and Steve were pretending to be working, but everyone knew they were listening to the conversation between Pete, Myka, and Artie.

"He died," Pete said bluntly.

"With the bracelet – how hard is it to take a bracelet from a dead guy?"

"He didn't have the bracelet," Myka said. "We searched him, his home, car, everywhere we could think of. Doctor Ernesto Garbutt no longer had the bracelet, Artie."

"Did he sell it?"

"We don't know," Pete admitted. "Like we told you before we left Spain, the guy has been glob-trotting since Mexico and always one step ahead of us. He had been going to all these monasteries and temples and churches. The guy was looking for something but when we showed his picture, everyone told us the same story over and over." Pete sighed, rubbing his forehead. He was tired of glob-trotting. He wanted to sleep in his own bed and it still felt miles away.

"He was looking for a way to get out of a curse, but he didn't give them details," Artie said, watching the two heads nod.

Artie pulled the file from Myka's hand. "You have no idea what you two have lost. None!"

"It's an artifact, Artie. It's going to pop up sooner or later."

"No. You don't get it. This artifact predates most artifacts. It's as old, or older, than the hyena jawbone. It has been lost for two centuries and we just now found it."

"But you said there is no record of it, that we don't know what it even does," Myka said. There was a slight whine to her tone, hinting that she was tired.

"We don't, but losing it makes it even more dangerous."

"Then how'd you know to look for it in the first place?"

"A photograph. I saw it on the doctor's wrist when I was looking at places in the area."

"Places in the area?" Claudia questioned.

"Yes." Artie's cheeks flushed a little.

That got everyone's attention.

"Like a romantic getaway places or work places?" Steve asked.

"Mind your own business you two." He looked at the two over his glasses, and then back at Myka and Pete. "Find this bracelet."

The two turned to leave.

"Oh. And what's with this receipts from the good doctor's office?"

The two turned.

"Oh. That's… That was me." Pete said. "I was coming out of the hotel and smacked this guy, in the face with the door. He went to Doctor Garbutt to get it fixed; we met him coming out of the office when we got there. I paid the bill for him."

"He was seeing Doctor Garbutt?"

"Yeah. He had a broken tooth."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I met him again in the hotel restaurant and we ate lunch together. He said Doctor Garbutt gave him the creeps, so he went to another dentist. Guess old Garbutt wasn't totally insane thought; the other dentist said he'd never seen a gold cap set so well or molded so perfectly."

"So you pay the guy you're chasing?" Steve asked Pete.

"It was my fault Emory got a broken tooth, so yeah. I thought I owed him at least that."

"The guy was running. He didn't care if he saw money from that bill, Pete," Claudia told him.

"That's what I tried to tell him," Myka almost whispered.

He shot her a glare. She smiled.

"Go. Get out of here. Go back to the B'n'B and get some rest. There's another ping that I need you to start on tomorrow."

The two left. Artie looked at Claudia and Steve.

"Ease drop much?"

The two smiled and quickly went back to work.

**Paradise Canyon**  
**La Jara, New Mexico**

Emory's car was rotting slowly away from rust along the bottoms edges. It was always covered in red-orange dust and was getting another coating now as he sped down a dirt road into a canyon. He approached a small stone bridge and slowed his speed by half. The road turned at the bridge and dipped down into the canyon. The New Mexico desert gave way to an oasis at the back of the canyon. Sitting in the shade of the canyon wall was a Winnebago trailer. The tires were covered and it sat on blocks off the ground. A small patch of lawn surrounded the trailer and when he was close enough, he could see it was fake turf. A wide porch had been built in front of the door and was covered with an open tent. Under it was an old but faithful barbeque, a table made from recycled metal and glass, and four unmatched chairs. In one of the chairs a young woman lounged, staring across the canyon with an almost lost look.

Emory parked his car at the front of the trailer and got out. He collected his suitcase from the trunk and walked around to the steps. The woman had left. He stopped at the door, fished his key from the four on the ring, and entered the trailer. It was hot and stuffy inside.

"It's about time you got back!" came a cranky voice from the front of the trailer.

"Yes, Grams."

"I've been sitting here, bored out of my mind, since you left."

"You could have always moved on, Grams."

Emory turned, watching the young woman walk past him. She glanced at him, but they didn't speak. Emory walked to the room at the back of the trailer and sat his bag on the bad. He started opening windows, working his way toward the front. At the front of the trailer an elderly woman sat at the table, glaring at him. He opened the windows around her.

"You could make yourself useful and open that window behind you," Emory told her.

"I can't."

"You can. I have seen you do it."

"I can't do it."

"Grams," Emory said with a tired voice. He sat down across from her. "Why do you have to act like this?"

She looked down at her hands on the table and shrugged.

"You are not alone here. You have Tina to talk to."

"That tramp? I'd rather talk to a dead dog!"

"Grams, be nice."

"She's just hanging around here because she likes you."

"And what is your excuse?"

"You're my grandson! I have to take care of you."

He smiled. "Grams, I am your thirty-two year old grandson. I do not need you to take care of me."

She waved off his words.

"Someone stopped by yesterday," Tina told him.

The two looked up. Tina stood next to Emory, watching him.

"What did they want?" Emory asked her.

"It was the man from the development company. He was here for an hour, pounding on the door, yelling for you."

"He got hoarse from doing it," Grams added.

Emory nodded. "He deserved what he received. I'm going to go unpack, get a shower, and get some sleep. Take your fights outside, ladies."

"Couldn't you at least turn on something?" Grams asked.

Emory got up and leaned over her, looking in her eyes. Up close her eyes didn't reflect light in one spot, they appeared to be silver and reflecting light everywhere.

"No. I am going to sleep."

"But, I—"

"You could always move on, Grams. Always." He walked away.

She noticed Tina had her fingers over her lips, trying not to laugh.

"That'll be enough out of you missy!" Grams bellowed.

"Be nice, Grams," Emory warned her.

Emory laid down, put his hand over his tooth. It felt like it was lightly vibrating and was hurting again. He closed his eyes, falling asleep.

**Marketplace**  
**Tehran, Iran**

Claudia ducked behind a market wagon with the owner, covering her head with her hand and Tesla gun. Above them various fruits exploded in rapid succession. The man next to her began scolding her – or so she assumed from his tone.

"Hey! He's shooting at me too!" Claudia told him.

That didn't stop him.

"Claudia?" she heard Steve call from somewhere to her left.

"Yeah?"

"Ideas?"

"No. You?"

"If I had a gun…"

She smirked. "You'd be in prison right now. Let's not whine about that anymore, okay?"

"I miss my gun," she thought she heard Steve complain. Over an explosion he asked, "What in the hell is with this coin?"

"It belonged to Stalin. Artie said it has the power of his words in it."

"I think I can get closer to get this guy down."

"You try. I'm going to stay here and be afraid."

Exploding fruit and other items stopped.

From across the alley filled with rickety market awnings and wagons, Steve looked around a wheel. The man holding the coin was, waiting for them to show themselves. Steve looked down at his Tesla gun. One hit from the energy of the coin and both of their guns were now dead.

"What the…" Steve heard someone say.

He looked around the wheel again. A man stood between the attacker with the artifact coin and him. He wore bright white briefs with Hanes running along the waistband. He had no shoes on his large bare feet. He held his toothbrush up to his mouth frozen in the act of brushing his teeth, but from the wide-eyed stare on his face, brushing his teeth had become the last thing on his mind.

"Sir, get down!" Steve yelled.

The man turned, staring at him. The attacker aimed the coin at the man.

The man noticed and with a mouthful of toothpaste quietly ordered the coin bearer, "No. Whatever you are going to do, no."

Steve watched the attacker lower the coin. He slowly stood up. The newcomer looked around him, spotted a trashcan and walked over to spit the toothpaste out of his mouth. He then calmly took a look at his surroundings.

Claudia cautiously emerged from her hiding spot. Steve heard her quietly mutter, "Great abs."

Mentally Steve agreed. In fact, there wasn't much about this stranger he didn't find appealing himself, but his mind quickly quashed that by the fact he had shown up in the middle of Iran in his underwear, literally out of the blue. "Who are you?" Steve asked.

"Emory. Who are you?"

"Why are you here?" Steve stood up

"I asked who you were," Emory insisted.

"Steve. Why are you here?"

"I do not know where _here_ is. Five seconds ago I was brushing my teeth in my bathroom, somewhere that was definitely not _here_."

"You're in Tehran, Iran," Claudia told him.

The man stared at her. He almost spoke a couple of times, but wasn't able to get his mouth or larynx moving.

"So I'm going to ask you again, why are you here?" Steve repeated.

Emory struggled to pull his gaze away from her and place it on Steve. His voice was still strong, but it quivered with fear when Emory answered, "I was in the United States five seconds ago, and nowhere near Iran or even thinking of being near Iran."

Claudia and Steve looked at each other.

"Could the coin have done it?" Steve asked her, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Nuh-uh. That thing only likes to blow things up."

Over his shoulder Emory told the Iranian, "Just hold on. You can tell me about it in a minute."

The man still holding the coin was caught off guard. "What?"

"Not you, the other…" Emory turned back to the Iranian. "Oh… Oh Jesus." Emory paled and looked like he'd been punched in the stomach. "Never mind. I thought I heard someone say something to me." The agents could barely hear him add, "This must be the land of the dead!"

Claudia leaned close to Steve. "Boy's a little kooky, I think."

"Let's just get that damn coin and get out of here. This guy isn't our problem."

"He's here with no pants, just a toothbrush, and he appeared out of thin air. Still want to go with he isn't our problem?"

"Emory," Steve waited for him to focus his attention on him. "Look, we have to finish what we started here, and then we can figure out what happened with you, okay?"

Emory nodded. "And get me some shoes."

"And pants?" Claudia suggested.

"Yes. And pants."

Steve walked around Emory, holding out a gloved hand to the Iranian. "Give me the coin, sir. That's all we need and then we'll be on our way."

"I told you already, I am not giving it to you," the 'sir' told her

"Sir, that thing is dangerous."

"I know. Look at the market! And if you come any closer, you'll—"

"Oh for Pete's sake." Emory pushed past Steve, stomping toward the Iranian. "Look, it is just a damned coin, alright? And furthermore, my Russian sucks so either tell me what you are ranting about in English or shut up and make that guy give Steve the coin so I can get some pants and go home!" Emory stopped in front of the man, but he was talking to empty space to the man's right. "If it is a Russian coin, what is it doing in Iran?" Emory heaved a sigh and rubbed his forehead a moment. "Alright. Fine." Emory turned back to Steve. "Are you taking this coin to… Where?" Emory looked back at the space. "A warehouse? Number thirteen?"

Claudia and Steve stared at him.

"Yes or no?" Emory insisted.

"We can't—" Claudia started.

"The man says you are and frankly, I do not care. He says he'll make this guy give you the coin on one condition. He wants your word that it will be returned to Soviet…" Emory rolled his eyes. "Russia. He wants it taken back to Russia."

It was Steve and Claudia's turn to be speechless.

"Who, exactly, wants it taken to Russia?" Claudia asked.

Emory looked back again. "He looks like Stalin and claims he is Stalin. Probably died believing he was Stalin. So, yes or no?"

Steve and Claudia looked at each other. They both nodded.

"Sure," they answered simultaneously.

Emory began saying, "Great. And then you can help me—" Without a sound, theatrics, or warning, he vanished.

Everyone stared at the spot he had been standing. The Iranian suddenly slapped the coin into Steve's hand and ran. All around them merchants and tourists ran, leaving Claudia and Steve alone in the market with a coin of destruction and a lot more questions than they had that morning.

"I… Okay… Exactly where to we start when we tell Artie about this?" Steve asked Claudia.

#

Emory gasped, staring at his reflection in his bathroom mirror. He didn't move for a few minutes. His body had a strange ache, like it had just been pulled in every direction possible for a few minutes and then released. Emory felt like the floor was wobbly. Or was that his legs? He had never had a hallucination, and he wasn't sure if they were supposed to be so realistic.

"Where did you go?" he heard Tina ask.

He turned, staring at her. She stood in the doorway, watching him.

"What?" he asked her.

"You left. You just… Disappeared. And then you reappeared. Where did you go? And how?"

Emory looked down. He noticed his feet were dusty from walking on a street in a desert. He looked up at her.

"I was in Iran. There was something strange happening there. And then I came back. I do not know how, Tina." Emory looked in the mirror. "I do not know what just happened."


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

**Bed and Breakfast**  
**South Dakota**

Pete read through the text on his laptop screen, and then turned to a notepad and jotted some information on it. He didn't look up when Myka walked into the atrium and sat with him. She held her cup of tea in both hands, trying to steam the morning sleep out of her system.

"What's all this?" she asked, looking at the scattered print outs, edges of photographs, and several sheets of handwritten notes.

"A project I'm working on." Pete stopped working, looking at her. "Am I being punished for something?"

Her eyebrows lifted. "Like what?"

"Since we got back from Mexico, and Artie got after us about losing that bracelet, have you noticed he hasn't assigned me anything? Not even inventory!"

"Maybe he thinks you need a break, but he hasn't mentioned that he's upset with you about anything."

"Yeah, but he was pretty hot about that bracelet and—"

"Which I also lost and he's been giving me assignment after assignment, so if I were you, I'd stop complaining before I throw this mug at you."

Pete smiled and relented to the threat. She picked up a piece of paper, which was a birth certificate.

"Who the hell names their kid Angus?"

"Someone with a mean streak, I guess."

"Yeah. I'd never name my child that."

Pete smiled.

Both looked at the front door when it slammed open. Claudia and Steve ran in and dropped their bags at the bottom of the stairs.

"We'll pick it up when we get back. Have to go see Artie," Claudia told them and the two raced back out.

"Meep-Meep," Pete said right before the door slammed shut.

Abigail walked into the room carrying a coffee mug and plate with a bagel. She sat down next to Myka. "Who was that?"

"Steve and Claudia, off to find dad," Myka told her.

Abigail smiled. "Can I move some of this?"

Pete reached over and cleared her a spot. "Sorry. Sort of took over in here."

"That's okay. I'll be careful. What is this, anyway?"

"A project I'm working on. You know, I still have access to the NSA database, Mykes."

"Cool. Why is that important?"

"It's not. I just didn't know I still did."

"Am I on a no fly list?" she joked.

Pete just laughed.

**Warehouse 13**  
**South Dakota**

Artie looked up when Steve and Claudia ran up to him. He was in the middle of arranging artifacts so they wouldn't try zapping each other so much.

"Artie," Claudia panted. "We made the fastest trip home." She swallowed, grabbed a breath and panted on. "We got the coin." She dug the bagged coin out of her jean's back pocket and showed him. "But something really strange happened while we were there. I mean, really super strange."

Steve nodded, adding. "This guy appeared out of nowhere. I mean, literally out of thin air. One minute the guy with the coin was blowing the market up, the next this guy's there."

"He had an artifact?"

"Not that we noticed."

"He could have had in a pocket or been wearing it, or—"

Claudia looked level eyed at Artie. "The man appeared with a toothbrush and in tighty-whities, Artie. Unless he was hiding it up his… You know, or wearing it on his manhood, we are pretty certain he didn't have an artifact on him."

"Okay. Give me details about what happened."

The two retold the story, going back and forth, adding details to the other's story. When they were done, silence followed.

Artie let out a breath and asked, "And he just disappeared mid-sentence?"

"Yeah. He was gone as fast as he appeared."

"You said he told you his name?" Artie asked.

"Emory."

"Where did he say he was from?"

"He only said he was from the United States."

Artie frowned. "There are a lot of artifacts that can transport people places, but all of them have to be worn or held."

"His toothbrush?" Steve asked.

"It was electric," Claudia reminded him.

"So that's out," Artie said. "Claudia, go see if you can find his face. Let's at least know who he is in case we need to find him later."

"On it."

"Steve, that coin needs to be put in the quarantine zone."

"But what about promising to give it to Russia."

"The quarantine zone."

"You're not going to send it to Russia, are you?"

"No."

Steve shook his head. "Artie, I think that's a bad idea."

"Next time I'll ask for your opinion when I want it. Go."

Steve walked away.

**Johnny Perano's Apartment**  
**Flushing, New York**

It was a stand-off. Myka blocked one exit, Claudia blocked the other, and Johnny Perano, alleged mob hit man, was anxiously standing at the back of the study they'd cornered him in. A kind of sheen flowed from the sword over him, reflecting off like sun off hot pavement in the summer.

"Look, we just want the sword, Johnny," Myka told him. "We aren't here about anything else."

He laughed. "Like I'm going to buy that. I know you're here to take me out."

"For the last time, we are not here to take you out!" Claudia told him. "We just want the sword, you can leave, we can leave, and we can all go have pasta."

Myka and Johnny both looked at her. She smiled and aimed her Tesla gun at him, firing. The ray bounced off the shimmering and right at Myka. She ducked. It flew past her, cutting a hole in the wall behind her. She was on her feet before Johnny could take more than one step toward her, aiming her gun at him.

"You can't shoot me if I'm holding this!" Johnny laughed.

"You know, this is a real déjà vu situation. At any moment now, I'm expecting a tallish guy in his undies and with a toothbrush to appear in front of me," Claudia told Myka.

"How about his clothes and a garden spade instead," someone said behind her.

She turned, staring at Emory. He stood up from being on his knees, dropping the garden spade in hand.

"How… What… Again?"

"I don't know to the first two, and yes. Again."

"Who are you talking to?" Myka asked.

"That strange guy from Iraq."

"What?" Myka asked.

"Who is that?" Emory asked.

"Someone I work with."

"And him?" He looked at Johnny.

"The guy who is going to kill all of you!" Johnny told him with a sneer.

"Oh," Emory said with no emotion.

"Most people would be pooping puppies right now, you know that?" Claudia told him.

"I am not in Iraq, am I?"

"No, you're in Flushing, New York."

"Claudia! We don't have time for this!" Myka told her.

Emory looked past Claudia and sighed. "This got me home last time." Emory pushed past Claudia and stepped into the room. "Let us see if it work twice."

"Sir, you can't—" Myka began

Emory cut her off. "What are you two going to do with the sword once you take it?"

"Take it somewhere safe," Claudia told him.

"Claudia!" Myka scolded.

"Hey. It worked last time. Might work again."

Emory listened to them, waiting for them to stop talking. "That warehouse place?" he asked.

Silence.

"I take this as yes," he said. "It is a safe place. I trust the girl that it is. But first you have to give me the sword." Emory didn't speak for a moment.

"Who is he talking to?" Myka asked.

"I think whoever owned and died with that sword."

"The unknown soldier?" Myka asked.

"Yeah."

Emory nodded. "I can ask." He turned to Myka, starting to speak.

Johnny suddenly ran at Emory, focused on running him through with the sword. At the last minute, before either Claudia or Myka could shoot, Johnny's feet flew out from under him and he landed hard on the floor. The sword flew across the room and embedded itself in the wall that was between the two women. Myka reached out to grab it.

"Do not touch it," Emory told her.

The sword flew out of the wall and made a slice in the air where her abdomen had just been. It stopped in mid-air, ready to charge her. No one moved – three from fear of what they had just witnessed, but one because he saw a soldier in an Australian World War I uniform, who couldn't be more than sixteen or seventeen. He was watching Myka with eyes that told his instincts to use the sword to kill was the difference between life and death.

"Do not kill her," Emory quietly commanded.

The boy's head turned but his poise to attack remained statuesque.

"She is not a threat to you. Do not kill her."

"I want peace!" he told Emory.

"Why have not you moved on then?"

He brandished the sword toward Emory. "It won't let me leave!"

"What if it would? Would you go?"

"Who are you talking to?" Myka demanded.

Emory didn't answer.

"Yes. I want to go."

"Give her the sword, boy. Give her the sword and you can move on."

"Is it Heaven? Am I going to Heaven?"

Emory considered the question. "No, but I am trusting my instincts, and you will go somewhere peaceful."

"I need to know for certain!"

"Do you think I am lying to you?"

The boy thought about the question. The sword lowered.

"Maybe."

Emory walked up to him and took the sword from the boy. The shimmering started to climb across Emory's hand, then recoiled and disappeared back into the sword. Emory didn't seem surprised by it.

"That was strange," the boy told him. "It always claims whoever takes it, traps me her—"

The boy disappeared. Emory followed, and the sword clattering to the floor.

Claudia didn't stop Johnny from running out of the apartment. She and Myka both walked up to the sword, staring at it.

"That just happened, right? That guy, he just talked to the sword, grabbed it, and then disappeared, right?" Myka asked Claudia.

"Yeah. He seems to be really good at doing that, so far."

"Do you think it's an artifact?"

"Maybe. But why? He's, like, I dunno, talking artifacts down from the ledge or something, and then just leaving them. How does that make sense?"

Myka crouched down and picked up the sword with her gloved hands.

"It doesn't. Let's bag it and go. Pete is going to wish he'd been here for this one."

"And Artie." Claudia pulled a long bag from her back pocket and unfolded it.

**J.P Morgan, Chase Branch**  
**Bala Cynwyd, Pennsylvania**

Lance Trent hacked through the vault door with his pick axe as if the metal was made of butter. Through each stroke the metal glowed red hot which faded fast. With each stroke a breath was stolen from him, a little more of his life evaporating on it. He didn't hear Steve and Myka walk up behind him, both with guns aimed at him.

"Put down the axe, Trent," Steve ordered.

Trent didn't. He kept hacking away.

"Trent, put the pick axe down."

He shook his head. "They aren't stealing our house."

"Look, we get it. We know why you've been robbing all these banks. But Trent, your wife is in the hospital alone. Your house is just a possession, she needs you."

He paused, wiping sweat off his brow.

"I promised her I would give her a home when she told me she was pregnant. That was four pregnancies ago. And now this, now cancer."

"Trent, if they caught in time, she has a great chance of surviving," Myka told him, "but in order for her to fight this, she needs you. That axe is killing you. It wants you to pay for what you're doing because it's wrong."

Trent turned just as Emory appeared between him and Steve and Myka. Emory had his hands on a shopping cart half filled with groceries.

"Not again," Emory stoically said.

Steve and Myka didn't move. Trent brought the axe down on the cart, slicing part of it in half. Then he took another aim and started to bring it down. The swing froze half way, dangerously close to Emory's head. Emory let the cart go and took two steps back, coming even with Myka and Steve.

"Who is he?" Emory asked them.

"Lance Trent," Steve answered. "Why are you here again?"

"You tell me. This is the second time I have transported where both of you were and something strange was happening and there was a very angry young man involved."

"Trent doesn't want to lose his house," Myka explained, "and his wife has cancer."

"I wasn't talking about Trent."

Steve and Myka exchanged a glance. Emory stepped forward once.

"What is the problem?" he asked.

Standing behind Trent was a tall boy, eighteen, maybe twenty. He was slender with auburn hair that was almost red. His clothes were ragged, dating to the 1800s. He had seen a lot of hard work in his life.

"This man is robbin' banks," the boy told him. He had a strong Irish accent.

"I see. And what did he have against the cart there?" Emory asked, pointing at it.

All eyes were drawn to the pool of milk and orange juice that had formed on the floor, sugar piled under the card, and eggs slowly oozing down toward the mess.

"I didn't tell 'im to do that," the boy said. "It's me pick axe. Sometimes it d'nt listen to me."

"Seems to be a trend." Emory looked at the axe. "Does it talk to you?"

"That would be looney."

He looked up at the boy. "As looney as a living man talking to a dead man?"

The boy shrugged, sliding his hands in his trouser pockets. "Sometimes she does talk to me. She tells me what she's going to do."

"Does she tell you not to move on?"

He nodded.

"What's your name?"

"John Ruddy."

"I am Emory."

"That's a good name."

"Thank you. John Ruddy is also."

"Who are you talking to?" Trent demanded.

"The person who really owns that pick axe," Emory answered. "The person who died with it and does not like how you are using it."

Trent was speechless.

Rudy chuckled. "Ya got 'im on the run now. Tell him I'm going to claim his soul and drag him to hell. Tell 'em."

"John says he is going to claim your soul and drag it to hell if you do not hand that pick axe over."

Trent looked up at him. Emory saw the change from confusion switch to anger. He lifted the axe to swing at Emory, but he couldn't swing it back. Emory had watched John step up behind Trent and grab the axe at the base of the pick. He held onto it, preventing Trent from moving the pick axe.

He leaned close to Trent and whispered in his ear, "Let go of me axe, or I'll drag yer soul to hell when I go."

They all heard the whisper, but only Trent understood it. He let the axe go and sprinted out of the bank vault room. The pick axe dropped to the floor with a clatter. Emory stared at it a moment. He was aware that John Ruddy now stood next to him.

"She doesn't really talk to me, does she?"

"The pick axe?"

"Aye."

"I doubt it. It is just a pick axe, after all." Emory looked up at him. "Is that why you did not move on?"

"No. I have to go home and finish some business, but that thing was keeping me here. Still is."

"These people will take care of that for you." He glanced back at Steve and Myka. "Finish your business and move on."

John looked at him. His eyes shone with all light, almost silver. "Is it nice where we go next?"

"I do not know. I never get time to ask."

John disappeared. Emory turned to speak to Myka and Steve, and disappeared himself.

"Damn it!" Myka blurted out.

Steve stared at her. She sighed.

"Sorry. I'm just… Who _is_ this guy?"

"I was here with you. I know as much as you do," Steve told her.

"Yeah. But you saw him first."

"And he did the whole appearing and disappearing act then, also."

Myka walked over to the cart and started looking at it.

"What are you looking for?"

"Something that will tell me where this came from."

Steve started searching the untouched groceries in the cart. "Guy shops like he's a bachelor."

"That's a clue," she told him. "Wait." She looked up at him. "How does a bachelor shop?"

"Steaks, frozen dinners, your basics. Not a lot that takes much time to cook."

She went back to her search. Steve finished and stepped back. She finally stopped, staring at the cart.

"Nothing?" he asked.

She shook his head.

"Well, on the bright side, we have the Duffy Cut pick axe, and no one died this time."

"Lovely," she stood up. "And we still have some guy showing up talking to artifacts that listen to him."

"Is he?"

"Is he what?"

"Talking to artifacts? I kind of got the impression both times that he was talking to something, or someone, else."

"Like a ghost?"

"Or something else, yes."

She shook her head. "I don't know, Steve. Grab the axe, will ya?"

Steve pulled on gloves and picked it up. The two headed out of the bank.

"Pete has been whining about this you know," Steve told her.

"I know. I know. He wants to meet this guy – he's more anxious to meet him than we are, I think."

"Maybe next time, I guess."


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

**Turner house**  
**Martinsburg, West Virginia**

For a week the four agents had been chasing an artifact across the Southern United States. It was strangling people and leaving no trace. It began the killing spree in Shreveport, Mississippi the month before and moved steadily toward Martinsburg, West Virginia. Artie had called Myka and Pete away on another assignment two days ago, leaving Steve and Claudia to keep up the chase. They had discovered it was a shawl two deaths prior and tracked it to a death at a thrift store. Unfortunately, they arrived an hour late – the shawl had been hung back up and sold.

They finally managed to track it to Loraine Turner's house just outside of Martinsburg and she was not answering their pounding on her front door.

"I'll check the back," Steve told Claudia.

She pounded on the door again. "Mrs. Turner, open the door!" Claudia called out.

She jumped back when the door flew open. Steve grabbed her wrist and drug her with him at a run. He led her into the living room where Mrs. Turner was clawing at the shawl that was slowly strangling her. The two pulled on gloves and grabbed a side, trying to pull it away from her. It was as if the material was made from steel and it wasn't about to give up its victim.

"Goo it," Steve ordered.

"What if that makes it tighten faster?"

"She's being strangled to death, Claudia!"

"It's in the car. I'll be right back.

She leapt to her feet and ran out of the house. Steve leaned over, trying to find a way to stop the shawl from tightening more.

He jumped when a plate crashed on the hearth of the fireplace. He and Emory stared at each other. Emory sat in a heap on the floor, holding a piece of chicken in one hand.

"Do something!" Steve ordered.

"What?" Emory asked with a mouthful of chicken.

"Got it!" Claudia called as she ran back into the room. "Goo is here. And… Emory. You're here."

Emory dropped the chicken and scrambled to his feet. "Why does this keep happening? I want to know why this keeps happening. This is ruining my life."

"This is about to ruin _her_ life if you don't find a way to stop it from strangling her to death, right now," Steve told him.

Emory looked down at Mrs. Turner, noticing her face was turning a darker color than the rest of her body. He looked around the room.

"There's no one here," Emory told them.

"What?" Claudia asked.

"There is no one here," he repeated more insistently. "There is no one with this shawl telling it to do this."

"Goo it," Steve ordered Claudia.

She knelt down and held out a bottle of goo, getting ready to pour it on. Emory suddenly grabbed her wrist, pulling it back. She looked up.

He stared at the shawl with the same wide-eyed look of shock she had seen in Iraq. He sank to his knees and reached out, laying a hand on the shawl. It reacted, loosening some of its grip on Mrs. Turner to wrap around his hand. But the wrap wasn't tight and as he pulled his hand back the shawl followed. It climbed up his hand and arm, curling around it like a boa constrictor. Mrs. Turner rolled on her side, coughing and gagging.

Stunned into silence, Steve and Claudia watched Emory uncurl the shawl and folded it neatly. He held it to him like someone might hold a scared baby to their chest.

"These people will take you somewhere safe," Emory told the shawl. "Somewhere where there are no slave owners, no one dying, and the color of your skin does not matter. You will be safe with them." He handed it to Claudia. "As soon as we are finished here, I want some answers."

"Ditto," she answered as she took it.

The second his hands left the shawl, he disappeared.

Claudia bit down on the stream of curse words she wanted to say. She turned a glare to Steve. He shrugged and then turned his attention to Mrs. Turner. She picked up a bag and put the shawl in. She was only mildly surprised to see the shawl didn't put up much of a resistance – something about the way Emory spoke to it gave her the idea it was complacent about this end.

**Warehouse 13**  
**South Dakota**

The morning in the Warehouse had been quiet. Artie was tracking down 'pings.' Pete was still working on his pet project – something that was consuming hours of his time and lots of calls to the IRS, some DMV, and a library or two. Myka was eavesdropping every so often, but for the most part she was wrapped up in her book. Abigail had arrived an hour ahead to bring everyone lunch but when no one showed any interest in eating, she sat down on the couch with Trailer to share her turkey sandwich with him.

Then Steve and Claudia arrived, telling the story of the shawl and how Emory had saved the day, no gloves or neutralizer included. And the calm broke with a:

"THAT'S IT!" Artie bellowed, slamming a book down on the desk.

The team remained silent.

"Who is this guy, Claudia?" Artie demanded. "I want his address, his name, his social security number, everything! This is ending now!"

"I don't know who he is, Artie. I've been looking everywhere for him. He doesn't have a digital trail."

"Everyone has a digital trail."

"Not everyone," Steve told him. "If he's living off the grid then he might not."

"I'd like to point out he isn't showing up all the time," Pete said.

Except for Artie, everyone groaned and told Pete to quit bellyaching about not having met the guy.

"Pete's right," Artie said.

They were silent again.

"He isn't showing every time you guys go after artifacts. He's only shown up with four artifacts, but why?"

"Six artifacts," Pete corrected.

"No. Four."

"No. Six. The coin in Iraq, the sword in New York, the pick axe in Pennsylvania, the keys in Florida, the pistol in Texas, and the shawl in Wes Virginia. That's six."

"Stealing my job?" Myka teased with a smile.

Before Pete could answer Abigail spoke up. "And when he disappears, the artifacts stay behind, so it's not like he's trying to take any," she pointed out. When they looked at her, she explained, "I've been listening."

"Well, we can't keep letting this happen. We need to lure him out somehow and talk to him this time," Steve said.

"But how? We don't even know what triggers him to show up." Claudia said.

Pete started to reply but Artie cut him off. "We'll take one of the artifacts from the Warehouse, one we normally have trouble with, and take it to the bed and breakfast. And then threaten it."

Pete was the only one that didn't agree it was a good idea, but no one seemed to notice.

"Now… Which one is our most problematic?" Artie asked them.

They were silent. That was a long, long list.

**Bed and Breakfast**  
**South Dakota**

Everyone stared at the Edna St. Vincent Millay's Candle sitting on the coffee table of the living room. They were sprawled around the room in defeat. They had yelled at it, cursed at it, threatened to break it, pulled on it, sat on it, locked in a box with some rag weed, and rattled pans at it.

"Nothing." Claudia tiredly stated what they were all feeling. "It's been three hours and he's not coming."

"Maybe we should light it, Artie," Steve suggested.

"No. No. We will not light it."

Pete walked into the room with a glass of milk and a few bites of sandwich left in his hand.

"Are you guys done?" he asked them. "I think I saw some cymbals in the basement once if you want them."

"Where the hell have you been? I told you we _all_ needed to be doing this," Artie haughtily told him as he got to his feet. "And you left thirty minutes into this to what? Have lunch?"

"I'm hungry now," Myka said standing up.

"I was hungry and I knew this wasn't going to work," Pete told him. "but I figured all of you needed to try first. I'm the crazy plan guy most of the time so who am I to stop a crazy plan?" He shoved the last of his sandwich in his mouth.

Everyone looked up at Pete.

"Excuse me?" Artie said.

He held up a finger and drank down his sandwich with the last of his milk.

He brushed the crumbs off his shirt and reworded his repeat, "This was never going to work."

"We just need a different artifact," Myka argued.

"It's not going to work with any artifact in the Warehouse, guys." Pete sat his glass down and explained, "See, all the artifacts in the Warehouse, well, they know us. Even the ones in the Dark Vault and quarantine know us. The all know we'd never hurt them. But when we grabbed and bagged them originally, they didn't know that, just like all these other artifacts that have direct dialed Emory."

Claudia said, "That theory would work, except for one flaw. He's only showing up on some."

"Haven't any of you noticed why or which ones?"

"They have no connection," Artie said. "They aren't even from the same country."

"Plus he's not even taking them when he goes," Abigail pointed out.

"Not yet he hasn't," Artie said.

"No, Abigail has a point," Myka said. "He's shown up with objects in his hands, including a shopping cart, so if he wanted to take these artifacts, there's nothing stopping him from doing that."

"Perhaps he hasn't figured out he can," Steve suggested.

"Getting us back to the topic at hand," Pete said a little louder than necessary. To Artie he explained, "You're trying to find the seven degrees to Kevin Bacon here, Artie. Step back and look at the much larger picture and you'll see there is only one common thing between them."

"They either have someone attached to them that's feeling threatened or scared, or in the shawl's case, it felt that threat or fear strong enough it called for help," Myka said. "But why Emory? What makes him so special?"

Pete tapped his nose and pointed at her. "And I don't know why Emory. That part I'm still trying to figure out."

"How… Did you figure this out without meeting this guy?" Artie asked him.

Pete shrugged, smiling. "My mad skills are ninja, only showing under the cover of moonlight darkness."

"Moonlight darkness? How is that ninja?" Claudia asked him.

"Shoosh!"

She smiled, turning on the couch to look at Artie. "I think Pete's right, but then that leaves us with the how are we going to lure this guy out?"

"We need an artifact that doesn't know us, and that's scared of us," Steve said. "Got any in mind like that?"

"You know, we could always just go to Emory's front door, introduce ourselves, and talk to him in person," Pete suggested.

"I cannot find him!" Claudia said, dropping her head back to look up at Pete. "I have looked and searched and done everything I can think of to find him.

"I found—"

"I've got it!" Artie said, cutting Pete off. "I know just the artifact, but I'm going to have to clear this with the Regents. Get packed. We're going to Washington D.C." Artie rushed out of the house.

The room cleared, leaving Pete by himself with the candle. He looked down at it.

"So," he said to the candle, "as I was saying, I found him, so maybe we should just go pay Emory a visit. You know, like normal people do? What do you think?"

The candle didn't comment. Pete shrugged and headed up to his room to pack.

**Smithsonian Air and Space Museum**  
**Washington, DC**

Artie led the troops through the back halls of the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum. Armed with stun guns, they were prepared to bring this mysterious man in and find out why he was interfering with the artifacts. Exiting the tunnels, they came into dark, silent halls. Artie led them down several corridors until they came to one that came to a dead end in a room dedicated to Amelia Earhart. Artie stopped outside the room, pointing to a pedestal at the back with an innocent looking compass on it.

"That is the artifact we're going to go after," Artie told them. "Amelia used that compass on every flight until the last one before she went missing. On her second to final flight it was reported to have malfunctioned, almost causing her to be lost a year earlier. She took a new compass with her on her final flight. Ever since then, this one has been leading people to their demise."

"Then why is it in the Smithsonian?" Myka asked.

"They have refused to hand it over to us, and as long as they're keeping it out of people's hands, the Regents are willing to let them keep it."

"Are we taking it?" Claudia asked.

"No. We're leaving it here. But it doesn't know that."

"Do you think it really will call this guy?" Steve asked.

"It's going to see us as a threat so I certainly hope so. Now, Abigail and I are going to stay out here in this hall, and hide in the shadows on either side so he won't be able to double back. Claudia and Steve, I want you two to find places inside that are out of sight. Let us know when you're ready. Then Myka and Pete, go in to bag the artifact. Now, remember, we need to stop him from talking to or interacting with this artifact."

Claudia and Steve headed into the room to scout out good hiding spots…


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

**Smithsonian Air and Space Museum**  
**Washington, DC**

Emory stretched his arm out for his pillow, but he didn't find it. His hand came palm down on a cold hard floor. He opened his eyes, staring at the marble floor his hand was against. He looked up and his heart skipped a beat until he realized the plane overhead was not moving or crashing on him. In fact, none of the planes around him were. It took him a moment to grasp that the people around him were mannequins who were permanently flying, maintaining, or signaling the planes around him.

He sat up, hearing a voice calling for help. It was faint, barely above a whisper. He sighed and slouched. Emory rubbed his eyes, waking up.

"This stops tonight," he muttered to the floor, and then picked himself up. He almost cared that he was wearing just his briefs again.

Almost.

He was not known for outbursts and very few people had ever seen him mad. Tonight, however, he felt the need for an outburst of anger and frustration. If it was the last thing he did in his life, he was getting to the bottom of why he was constantly being pulled out of his life, thrust into whatever life this was, and then shoved right back into his life. Not only was it an inconvenience, but it also left him stiff and sore, made his tooth ache, and have a raging migraine for two days. He couldn't continue living like this.

He didn't even notice where he was as he stormed through the corridors, searching out the voice. He found it as he came into a rotund room dedicated to Amelia Earhart. Myka had a bag open and Pete was getting ready to pick up the compass.

As he passed their hiding spots, Abigail and Artie walked quietly behind him, blocking the exit.

"Stop!" Emory bellowed.

Everyone froze. The lights in the room came on. No one moved for several minutes.

"Hey Emory," Pete said.

"Do I know you?"

"I'm Pete. I hit you in the face with the door at the hotel in Mexico."

Emory's lips pressed tightly together. "You—" He pointed past Pete toward the compass. "I will deal with you as soon as I get some answers, so wait your turn!" He turned his glare on Pete. "I want some damned answers about what the hell is going on. Why the hell do I keep showing up with you people, and…" He looked around the room, pausing when he saw Steve move slowly out of his hiding spot, armed with a gun. "Oh… That is how this is? I'm going to get shot now?"

"N-No." Steve answered.

"Then what?" Emory turned to Pete. "What is happening to me? Since when can humans just be teleported out of their normal life into…" Emory waved his hand at the compass. "Whatever the hell kind of life this one is?"

"We were sort of hoping you could tell us that," Artie answered.

Emory turned, staring at him for a moment. He turned and yelled at the compass, "Lady! I will get to you in a minute, alright? You and your damned compass are not going anywhere at this moment and you are not a priority right now!"

They looked at the compass, then Emory.

"Who are you talking to?" Myka asked.

"That lady right there next to the compass."

Silence.

Emory sighed, rubbing his eyes. "What is happening to me? Why is this happening to me?" He put his hands on his hips, glaring at Pete. "This all started that day you hit me in the face with the door."

"It did?" Pete asked.

"No," Myka said. "The first time you showed up was about a month after that."

"No. It started that day. I started hearing voices whispering, and they were not dead people."

Claudia mouthed to Steve, 'Dead people?'

Steve shrugged.

Emory continued, "Then, a month later, one was louder than the rest and that's when I showed up with you and that girl." He pointed at Steve and Claudia.

"You've been hearing voices?" Abigail asked him.

"I have."

"Right after Pete hit you with the door?"

"Yes!"

Abigail glanced at Artie when he gasped.

"Emory, do you also see the dead?" Artie asked. "Can you communicate with them?"

Emory turned to stare at him. Quietly he answered, "Yes."

"What about your parents, sibling, grandparents, maybe an aunt or uncle? Was anyone else in your family a medium? Could anyone else in your family speak to the dead?"

Emory didn't answer right away. "Yes. My grandmother, and her father, and his grandmother. Why?"

"I need you to think back to the day Pete hit you with the door. When did you actually start hearing the voices? Was it right after Pete hit you with the door? Or sometime later? Maybe after you left the dentist's office?"

Emory turned his head, staring at Artie. Quietly he answered, "It was after I woke up from getting the cold cap put on my tooth. The dentist did this to me?"

Artie smiled. "I think he did. I think he had to."

Now everyone but Artie was confused.

"Wh—" Emory turned back to the compass. "Fine. Okay. What? What is so important that you cannot wait for me to finish a conversation?" Emory nodded a couple times. He looked at Pete. "What is going to happen to the compass?"

"The compass?"

"Yes. The lady wants to know what is going to happen to the compass."

"What lady?"

"That lady!" Emory pointed at a larger-than-life photograph of Amelia Earhart.

The team stared at the photograph for a moment and then at Emory.

"Amelia Earhart is with this compass?" Claudia asked.

"She looks like her, so yes."

"She died when her plane went down," Myka told him.

"How she died is irrelevant, I just know she is here with this compass. And she wants to know what you are going to do with the compass. Just answer her."

"We're going to put it in a neutralizer bag and take it somewhere safe, where it can't kill anyone else," Pete said.

Emory stared at the compass. He focused on Pete again.

"She asked if that will let her move on."

"I… Artie, care to field this question?"

"I'd assume so," Artie answered.

"There. Happy?" Emory asked the compass.

And he disappeared.

"WAIT!" Artie, Claudia and Myka cried at the same time. But there was no waiting. Emory was gone.

"Bag the compass," Artie ordered. "We have to get back to the Warehouse."

"You know something about what's happening," Abigail said.

"I might. I don't know. I have to get back to the Warehouse to find out. Hurry up guys, and Amelia, I promise this doesn't hurt. A little tingly I'm told, but no pain."

Myka picked up the compass and slipped it in a bag. It sparked and then was silent. The team headed back to South Dakota.

**Warehouse 13**  
**South Dakota**

No one heard her arrive, not that it was abnormal for that to happen. They were all buried in their own research projects that Artie had assigned them, which strangely had nothing to do with Emory. He'd even pulled Claudia off searching for him.

So she cleared her throat. They looked up and there was an immediate reaction as the four hurried to welcome Mrs. Fredric.

"Hey Mrs. F," Pete said with a smile.

"Hello," she said, watching him clear a space on the couch. "Is Artie here?"

"Coming," Artie called from upstairs.

Artie trotted down the stairs, carrying several books, a notepad, and printouts of something. He smiled when he stopped in front of Mrs. Fredric.

"I'm glad you had the time to come today. Please, sit."

"I can stand."

In uncharacteristic Artie giddiness he told her, "Oh, ma'am, for this, you'll want to sit." Artie grinned.

That earned him a raised eyebrow. She moved over to the couch and sat down. Artie shoved a pile of books off the ottoman and sat down, laying what he was carrying on his lap. He held up a photograph of the bracelet he'd sent Pete and Myka after.

"Isn't this the bracelet agents Lattimer and Bering lost?" she asked.

"Yes." Myka and Pete exchanged glances. Artie was throwing them under the bus, but why? He leaned forward, telling her, "But they didn't lose it, ma'am."

No one spoke. He sat the photograph down.

"They didn't lose it because the dentist did have it, until he ran from Mexico. He used at least some of the bracelet to put a gold cap on this man's tooth." He pulled out a copy of a driver's license of one Angus Emory Garrett, with Emory's deadpan face on it and issued by New Mexico DMV.

She took the copy, looking it over. "He was born…"

"One nine at seven forty-five in nineteen seventy-five, yes."

"I'm guessing there's some significance to that?" Claudia asked.

"A huge significance." Mrs. Fredric looked up at Artie. "Are you suggesting he's… An Advocate, Artie?"

"I believe he is. That dentist wore that bracelet for almost a year. I tracked surveillance photographs and video to the exact month his business became successful again, and at the same time his bank accounts became very well-funded. He had found, or so he claimed, a hidden cache of Mayan treasure. He specifically in several newspaper interviews that a Mayan leader showed them the treasure, and he probably was from the same tribe that's been taking care of the bracelet since the Regents entrusted it to them."

She sat back, staring at the photograph. "Does he know what he is?"

"No. I just figured it out myself at the Smithsonian."

"Is someone going to let us in on who or what an Advocate is?" Steve asked.

Artie turned to them. "A very, very rare person for the Warehouse. So rare, in fact, that I never thought I'd ever meet one in my lifetime. Their ancestry has to be exact, there's rumors their DNA is unique, and that they have other abilities even before they become an Advocate."

"But what do they _do_?" Myka asked.

"They can hear and speak to artifacts. When an artifact feels threatened, it will pull the Advocate to it for protection. The bracelet I thought you and Pete had lost was the Advocate's bracelet. When I saw it on this dentist, I assumed it had fallen into the wrong hands." Artie shrugged, looking at Mrs. Fredric. "I was wrong. They must've chosen him."

"You said you didn't know what it does," Myka pointed out.

"I don't. No one does. If anyone but the advocate wears the bracelet it will make them insane. The power in it is so old that no normal human can control or withstand it."

"That's what drove the dentist to think he was cursed?" Pete asked.

"Yes." Artie turned back to Mrs. Fredric. "And I think that the dentist was instructed to destroy the rest of the bracelet, ma'am."

That made her sit up. "For what purpose?"

"You know for what purpose."

"We don't," Claudia reminded him.

Artie and Mrs. Fredric stared at each other for a long minute. She looked up at them.

"There is a legend which says the Maya tribe who protects the bracelet will order it destroyed after the last Advocate has been identified, because after this person passes on, there will be no use for it to be used to communicate with artifacts anymore. We have always assumed that meant the Warehouse will no longer be needed, but no one knows for certain."

That was a sobering thought.

Mrs. Fredric stood. "I will go speak to this Angus Garett and bring him back. Artie, he will need to be familiarized with the Warehouse and you will need to arrange a place for him to stay – I imagine the bed and breakfast is full. I—"

"Mrs. F," Pete said, "I have a better idea."

She turned to him, waiting to hear this better idea.

**Paradise Canyon**  
**La Jara, New Mexico**

Emory got down on his knees and began raking weeds between the sweet corn stalks. Nearby he could hear Grams humming. Somewhere else he knew Tina was sitting on a rock, watching the sky – her favorite past time.

"Gotta visitor," Grams said.

"Anyone we know?"

"Nope. Never seen him before."

Emory got to his feet and turned. The garden was further up the canyon, close to where a stream bubbled out of the ground. It grew between two tall, old cottonwood trees which gave him shade in the morning while he worked. There was a black SUV parked outside of his trailer and a man was knocking on the door.

"Maybe he'll just go away when no one answers." Emory went back to weeding. Finished with weeds, he grabbed a small apple basket with a handle and moved to the row of string beans. He began picking the ripe ones.

"Hi Emory."

He looked over his shoulder. Pete stood at the gate of the garden. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses but they didn't hide the smile that touched them.

Emory was not happy to see him. He turned back to his work. "What do you want?"

"You were a hard man to find. You don't have much of a digital trail."

"I do not have any digital trail."

"It's sparse, but you do have some. The plane tickets to Mexico and the hotel, for example. Had to backtrack from there and find bits and pieces everywhere to track you down!"

Emory glanced back at him. "Why are you here?" Emory started picking again. "And how soon can I get you to leave?"

Pete didn't let the man's sarcasm bother him. He leaned on the gate, watching Emory while he spoke.

"I came because I have answers about what's happened to you. I was relieved to find out that while I did play a part in it, it was just being a klutz and hitting you in the face with the door. I am really sorry for that, Emory, but it had to happen I guess in order to put things in motion."

"Is there a point to this rambling?"

"Yeah. There is. Uhm, I work for this place called the Warehouse, well, Warehouse 13 – it's the thirteenth of its kind that's existed. There are four agents, our boss, and another woman. We answer to some other people called the Regents, who oversee our work. In the world there are thousands of objects called artifacts. These artifacts commonly cause chaos and can even kill people sometimes. So we go out and find these artifacts and store them in the Warehouse for safe keeping. In the Warehouse we have a Caretaker who takes care of the building itself; it communicates with that person. Claudia, the young lady you've met a few times, she's destined to be that person somewhere in the future. We also have a Keeper, who has all the records from all the Warehouses throughout history in her mind. These are all pretty common roles in the Warehouse. The one that is rare is the Advocate. That person communicates with the artifacts and anyone who might be attached to the artifact. Normally that person wears a bracelet, but for some reason, the Mayan's who keep the bracelet ordered the dentist to cap your tooth with some gold and then destroy the rest. Since only an Advocate can wear it without going crazy, no one really knows much about it or what it can do, and now a piece of it is stuck in your head forever. My guess is that's why you're transporting to artifacts when they need you. Does all this make sense so far?"

Emory had continued picking beans. With one basket full he walked over to a larger apple basket and dumped them in. He stood up, staring into Pete's eyes.

"No." He went back to picking beans.

Pete smiled. "I did not picture you as being this stubborn, know that? You and Artie will get along well – he's pretty stubborn too."

Emory didn't comment. Pete picked up a small basket from the stack and walked down the row of beans opposite of Emory. He started picking beans with him. Emory stopped, staring at him.

"What?"

"Please go. I do not want you picking every bean you see."

Pete smiled. "My grandma grew a garden until she couldn't walk out of the house anymore. I know how to tell a ripe one from one that isn't."

Emory didn't change his mind.

"Wouldn't it be great to have someone help you pick all of these beans instead of doing it alone?" Pete motioned down the row.

Emory looked down the row. He started picking again. For several minutes they were silent and Pete pretended like he didn't notice Emory watching him.

"So it's a job," Pete told him, "One you were destined to fill."

"I do not believe in fate, or destiny, or karma. None of it explains anything, it is just an excuse."

"That's kind of jaded."

"I have reasons to be jaded, Pete Lattimer, who does not know me."

Pete picked beans for a moment. "I guess you do," he quietly answered. "Mother died of a snake bite when you were four, your dad was killed by a drunk driver when you were seven, and you were kidnapped for three years and found half dead in a coma." Pete paused and added sarcastically. "I guess those are good reasons to be so jaded, to cut off human contact, to become a recluse and stop living."

Emory stopped, glaring at Pete. "Are you not superior? What have you had to survive that even came close?" Emory quietly snarled.

Pete shrugged a little. Careful not to meet Emory's anger and to keep his voice free of any real emotions, he told him, "Well, there was this one time I was captured by Iraqi insurgents and for twenty-two days was stuck in a hole in the ground, starved, and tortured every day for information I didn't know. And then I became an alcoholic, destroyed my marriage, and almost killed my friend." Pete lifted his eyes to meet Emory's, and let his sarcasm rupture. "But I guess it's not the same as what you went through so there isn't really any comparison, is there?"

Emory had stopped picking to stare at Pete. He looked down, like he was ashamed of what he said but Pete had doubt Emory would ever admit that. So he took the first step past the conversation.

With compassion and sympathy, Pete added, "The point is our horrible, near death, past happened, but we can't let it shape who we'll be forever. Eventually, Emory, you gotta take that T-shirt off and burn it, or it will burn you all up. This job chose you for a reason, how or why doesn't matter, and I think you should take it. I think it will help you and the artifacts."

"I have a job," Emory told him. "I do not need another one."

Pete smiled. He was being a stubborn hard case, but Pete refused to give in. He had come prepared for the worst, and this wasn't the worst he expected. "I know. You make crosswords." Pete crouched down to pick beans from the lower vines. "I tried a couple and you make them tough. Myka, on the other hand, thought they were too easy."

"They are not easy."

"Guess you'll have to talk to her about that … at the Warehouse."

He stood up and found Emory glaring at him.

"Tricks? Is that the best you have?"

"Hardly." Pete smiled. "Try this one on. I like you. I'm not sure why, but ever since that day at the hotel I just liked you, which is weird for me actually. And I really don't know how you ended up as this Advocate, Emory. One thing I can see is you're broken, and everyone at the Warehouse is broken in some way or another too, but working there and becoming friends has made us whole. Don't you want to be whole again?"

Emory continued picking beans, ignoring the question. "I like it here. This canyon has been in my family for generations."

"Maybe you could leave the trailer here and get a place in town. Or maybe you could contract a house built down there," Pete turned, motioning at a pond that the stream ran into. "That looks like a nice place for a one room cabin – a good retreat when the Warehouse gets a little nuts." Pete turned back to him. "And then take your trailer to South Dakota."

Emory stared at him. He looked down at the beans in his basket, stirring them slowly with his hand.

"I…" Emory sighed. "Okay."

"Yeah? You'll come work with us?"

Emory nodded.

Pete smiled. "Right on." He went back to picking beans.

"Are we not leaving this instant?"

Pete leaned over the vines. "And leave all these vegetables and fruit in the garden? No way!"

A very faint smile flitted across Emory's lips.

**Warehouse 13**  
**South Dakota**

Pete parked his SUV outside the Warehouse and got out. He walked to the door and turned, waiting for Emory. He climbed out, staring at the building.

"This is it?" Emory asked.

Pete smiled. "What's the saying about books and covers?"

"Do not judge a book by its cover," Emory answered, but sounded distracted.

"That's it. Well, this is the same. Ready for amazement?"

Emory nodded. Pete punched in his code and held open the door. The two walked inside…

#

Pete and Steve stepped onto the balcony looking out over the Warehouse. Pete leaned on the railing, smiling at his home. He looked at Emory and mistook the wide-eyed stare for awe.

"You're back," Myka said as she same out of the office.

"Yeah. Emory…"

Emory didn't respond.

"Hey, Emory," Pete repeated.

Still Emory didn't respond. Pete smiled, looking out at the Warehouse. "We were pretty awe-struck when we got there too."

Emory didn't hear anything Pete said. He didn't hear anything Myka said. When the others came out onto the balcony, the conversation was lost to him.

His mind was tickling his flight response but he was paralyzed and unable to flee. He saw thousands of dead wandering the Warehouse among the aisles and artifacts. From this high up he couldn't figure out what feelings he felt actually belonged to a spirit below him.

Grams sidled up to him, staring at the mass below them.

"Oh, honey, this is…"

Softly Emory whispered, "They should not be here."

Tina appeared on his other side. She reached out to lay her hand on his and her hand passed through his. She looked up at his face.

"Then we help them move on, right, Grams?" Tina asked.

"Yes. That's what we do. We'll fix this, honey. The three of us can fix this."

Emory didn't have their optimism. He had never seen so many trapped spirits in one place or had such a horrible sinking feeling of how wrong the sight was.

* * *

_The End_


End file.
